Cupid and Venus
by Wickfield
Summary: Our Mutual Friend. Mr. Venus was only searching for a serviceable parrot. He wasn't expecting to find true love.


_**A/N: **__ So apparently, Mr. Venus is considered to be one of Dickens' least realistic characters, although from what I can gather, this is evidently only because he is a taxidermist. I think that is appalling - he is one of my favorite side characters, and unlike most of Dickens' characters who are either fully good or bad, Mr. Venus has a moment of weakness that puts him on the villain's side, but overcomes it by following his conscience to ultimately return to the good side. What is more realistic than that? Anyway, I like the taxidermy angle and find Mr. Venus otherwise entertaining, and I felt like writing something with him, so here is a little one-shot on his behalf. Enjoy!_

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**Cupid and Venus**

On the loneliest nights in his shop of curiosities – those nights that are darkest, and coldest, and – dare he own it? - yes, those nights that make him feel very nearly as lifeless as the trophies of his Art that surround him, Mr. Venus, Preserver of Animals and Birds, Articulator of human bones, finds that his only earthly solace presents itself in the form of rather poorly brewed tea, or in the satisfaction of placing blame for his most unhappy misfortunes in love. That weak-eyed gentleman is never quite decided _who_ is most to blame for his present misery – "Whether it ought to be the gentleman who sent the letter, and put me to the search in the first place, or that – that accursed seamen, who drove me down the path to our" (his and the lady's) "meeting-place!" He never, never blames Her, however. For that would be a sacrilege, pure blasphemy of the sacred image. "After all, it is never the fault of a Lady, when she is imbued with all those unmatched charms that combine to delight, and then to break, a poor Articulator's heart!"

Yes, in his most maudlin states, when he endeavors to drink himself into oblivion over his tea kettle (possessing, it must be owned, some apprehension towards those stronger and generally more effective elixirs, namely gin punch), Mr. Venus sometimes blames the letter-writing gentleman, and sometimes the accursed sailor, but he never fails to recollect, in most minute detail (for Mr. Venus, as his trade demands, is a worshipper of detail) his first meeting with that lady who has cast him so very, very low, as his present state.

Although it is not to be presumed that Mr. Venus had formerly been of a particularly buoyant or otherwise sanguine disposition – his was a temperament that, if not attentive to work and industry, tended to construct the most vexatious problems and anxieties, so that if he were ever prepared to approach his life with a shining, optimistic face, some new or imagined difficulty presented itself, which succeeded in lowering his spirits to what was, evidently, his natural subdued state. If he was not intended to be fully melancholy, Mr. Venus was destined to be quite subdued, at least; and really, what could provoke an already anxious-tempered gentleman more than a journey to a strange English shore in search of a serviceable parrot?

Mr. Venus, as he made his way among the Thames riverside, had equipped himself with a certain greatcoat which, like the rest of his person, had a decidedly dusty, disheveled, uncomfortable appearance, and served to set him apart from his surroundings all the more. There was some misguided belief in his head that he would have to guard against biting winds – he scarcely knew why, but it is best to be prepared. He held a letter in his hand, and when he was not awkwardly progressing through those unhappy streets near the waterside, he was surveying this letter with his tired eyes (which looked weaker, and blinked oftener, due to the natural daylight with which he was somewhat unaccustomed, after the work in his dim shop). "A Parrot, to be sure!" he said, or rather whimpered, to himself. "It is not that I should not _like_ to work with such an exotic and unexpected specimen – I should like to see what the _West End articulators_ should make of such a specimen, humph! – and I believe the articulation will result in a fine trophy, and only further serve to enhance my reputation, besides being an enjoyable commission. But oh, me! The means of getting a Parrot! I am certain the gentleman at the Museum – " referring to the letter at which he glanced, fretfully, "did not imagine the procurement of the Specimen to be quite so taxing!"

Mr. Venus had heard of braver taxidermists than he, who took a gun or other weapon, and slayed, with their own hands, their specimens for articulation, but Mr. Venus was no such warrior, and preferred his dealers to bring him polite songbirds and rabbits to the comfort of his shop, where he could practice his art in peace and diligent attention. At the very least, it was a happy occurrence that the seaman he had passed a quarter-mile back had actually had the knowledge of a parrot in the nearby vicinity and had, among Venus' inquiries whether or not he knew of any sailor that might be in possession of a parrot which, procured from an exotic isle, had worn out its welcome (so to speak), and which he was willing to sell for a fair price, answered in the affirmative; and with a rough nod of his head meant to indicate the general direction, suggested he "go see Pleasant Riderhood down in the Hole, as she's been complainin' of a Parrot she's been holding for well nigh two weeks, that has been naggin and worritin' her and Gaffer ever since it got there." Which establishment Mr. Venus, with his creased letter and weak eyes and shabby overcoat and shock of dusty hair, was now approaching.

The appearance of Limehouse Hole, he found, did not exactly correspond to the name bestowed upon it; being not so much a hole as a tumbledown and very dirty village, but Mr. Venus himself lived in London and so, fortunately, he was no stranger to carefully pecking his way among crowded and dirty streets to his desired destination, which he recognized as the leaving house he sought by its window, filled with unclaimed property now for sale and in that window, a bright red Parrot, the very model of which he was in search. Mr. Venus quickened his steps and was soon within the door, though, being in possession as he was of a pair of tired eyes, it was some time before his sight adjusted from the brightness he had so lately left, to the darkness which he now entered.

He rather awkwardly fixed all his attentions on the Parrot, which was lodged inside a wire cage rather too small for him, and which seemed rather passive; but surveying the creature's plumage, he found it very fine and suitable, and observed that the bird's keen eye, which seemed to glance upon him with a sly knowingness that Venus had not often encountered in Nature, could be nicely replicated with the twinkling facsimilies from his box of glass eyes, warious; for while there are some individuals who may be willing to take ordinary black glass beads, and pass them off as the unfeeling eyes of beasts, these men are not artists, they are imposters for the real thing, who are willing to stoop and corrupt the beauty of their Art for the sake of a few pence – and though the man Venus may stoop, in a dismal and melancholy manner, the Artist within him _never_ does, and never shall, you may be granted. But – it was a curious thing, to be sure – the more Venus studied the specimen, doubled over with his hands on his knees, he seemed to find the Specimen studying _him_, just as judiciously; and suddenly, and without warning, the bird screamed out "Lord have mercy, now here's a Fright!" which shrieking observation startled the taxidermist to that degree that he jumped a good distance, straightened up forthwith, and proceed to bash his head on a low ceiling beam, as tall nervous men are inclined to do. Thus, in this state of mortified discomfit, did the lady of the establishment first set eyes upon him.

Mr. Venus had instinctively dashed his hand to his head, and was feeling among his quantity of hair for any violent and seeping wound, as the Parrot, much enlivened from his initial quiet state, hopped upon one leg and sang a rowdy sea song; when Mr. Venus heard a rough, but not unkind voice behind him demand, "And what will you be having today, sir?"

"Oh, I was wondering how much you would like for the Par – " he was beginning, as he turned around, and then stopped, all of a sudden, even more personally abashed than he had been in his collision with the sturdy beam above. For he now understood he was in conversation with a most uncommon specimen, of the female species.

Miss Pleasant Riderhood (for so it was) was not widely considered to be in possession of any particularly attractive or entrancing features, whether bodily or spiritually. She was too sharp of nose, or too set of jaw, or too wandering of eye (though as the unfortunate owner of a swivel eye, she had very little control over this part of her person) for those who preferred the softer delicacy and tenderness in the fairer sex; too naturally strong of manner which all the beatings in the world could not, sadly, drive out; too quick and shrewd, and uncomfortable, indeed, for many of the rough sea-faring men of her previous acquaintance, to take much notice or interest in her existence. But it must be recalled that Mr. Venus spent the greater portion of his time attending to the bodies of dead animals and to the studies of human tissues, and that it was not very difficult to appear strikingly beautiful in comparison to the tokens of his work; and indeed, while other men prized a woman of flesh, Mr. Venus prized a woman of bone, and he thought he had never before seen such a fine bone structure as the one set in place before him now. "What a finely crafted mandible!" that anatomical gentleman thought to himself, in a flash of rapture – and that was no small compliment, for he had seen very many mandibles in his time. "Look at the connection of the skull to the bones of the neck, how finely jointed is her collarbone! And her nose, her fair nose! There is no ugly fleshy protuberance at the end as with so many ladies, but a fine point which only serves to enhance the rest of her features – the cheekbones, the chin – so much the better!" Such were the thoughts of the Articulator as he stood in the middle of the room, twirling his hands one over the other without the least realization that they were attached to the ends of his arms, and gaping in the manner of one of the aquatic trophies on display in his Clerkenwell shop.

It was almost as though his stare had stared Miss Pleasant's hair out of countenance for it was at this instance that her ragged knot, as it was prone to do, tumbled down, and she stood looking at the curious gentleman in the middle of her shop with some apprehension as she fastened her hair with her cheap shell comb. "What will you be having today, sir?" Pleasant repeated shortly, and she was soon echoed by the Parrot in question, and it was probably the animal voice, and not the lady's, that broke Mr. Venus from his strange trance.

"Oh," he said, looking about him like a man who has just been awakened from a dream in the middle of the night. "Oh mercy I – that is, how much are you asking for that parrot in the window?" And he gave an awkward motion toward that Parrot, as though there were a whole window full of birds and he had to clarify the one he had chosen.

It was Miss Pleasant's usual habit to engage in some light conversation, so as to distract from her less-than-fair pricing tendencies, but she still regarded the dusty gentleman with some wonder as she moved (what locomotion!) to unhook the bird's cage from the peg by the window, and placed bird and cage on the counter. "Well then, I suppose, if you have come with the clear purpose of purchasing old Poll here, you must be lookin' for a companion of an evenin, eh'?" she asked brusquely, and looking at the gentleman from the corner of her eye, as she readied the till for the exchange. "It isn't often that I have a gentleman come in knowing what he wants."

"Oh, yes…I, that is, I _should_ like a companion but…ah, that is not why I was in search of the parrot."

Miss Pleasant looked at him narrowly, and he felt obliged to explain, in a timid way, "It ain't for _communication_, but rather, for _preservation_ purposes, you understand." Looking as though she clearly did not, Mr. Venus pulled one of his cards from a pocket in his coat. "You see, I am a man of Science – or, alternately, a man of Art, depending on the way in which one views the subject." Regrettably for him, in Pleasant Riderhood's parsimonious eye, if someone could not make up their mind to be either a scientist or an artist, he must not be very firm of mind, or useful in work at all; but she took the card, and read it, and started. "Oh my goodness." However, as she wanted to make this sale (for the parrot had been driving her mad for three weeks, repeating every word said by herself, and every abuse uttered by her father, for hours on end), she swallowed her natural feelings about the trade marked on the card, and simply replaced it in the gentleman's hand. "I see. So – Mr. Venus – when you take the parrot here, you shall – that is, he will be – well, he was an old 'un, at any rate, so I suppose it is all the same."

"I suppose," was Mr. Venus' faint reply. It may or may not have been that he was thinking of those sparkling glass eyes, warious, and that they, in all their manmade perfection, could never rival the real thing.

"That will be thruppence!" someone cried, imperiously, and Mr. Venus starting again, dived to produce the necessary amount from one of his pockets, but Miss Pleasant groaned in the direction of the parrot, and clapped a brown hand to her forehead. "He's repeatin' a sale from earlier. This one" indicating the parrot "will be four shillings, and a steal at that, too. Pay him no mind, he repeats everything anyone has said here for a week," and indeed, as if on cue, the parrot inquired, "how much can I get for this here watch, eh?" And Miss Pleasant sighed, with great consternation.

"It does not bother _me_, miss. He is wanted for a museum display," Mr. Venus observed, less uneasy now that he was not looking directly upon the fair lady's face. For her part, Miss Pleasant was not much interested, but oddly, she was not uninterested, and indeed, it was a change, at least, that he was no seamen, and could speak of something other than the tide or the weather. "Is he going to be having a tea party, or something similar?" she asked, as her knowledge on taxidermy, up unto that point, had consisted only of the sight of large quantities of small game engaging in human activity with unusual ardor.

"I have made similar dioramas," Mr. Venus responded, with a modest shrug, as he placed the necessary amount on the counter before him, "and have received praise for the charm in which they are displayed and arranged, but this is to be a purely scientific and natural specimen, and I think he will come out rather nicely – all the nicer for being significantly less talkative, I should think."

In spite of herself, Miss Pleasant smiled ruefully at that comment, and what a smile it was, made better by being so rarely displayed. It was unlike any of the infinite, unique curiosities with which he had dealt in his professional experience, and it was the final nail in the coffin of the poor taxidermist, who looked at her, with such attention, that as she looked back, her hair immediately tumbled down.

"I beg your pardon, I'll have your change shortly," she muttered, righting her hair once more with a quick embarrassed motion, and Mr. Venus was going to assure her that _he_ was in no hurry, no, not at all, but he was interrupted by the object of his purchase, who cried out, in a coarse voice, "What a liar! What a liar! I'll have none of your whinging complaints tonight, or I'll cuff you! Understand! I'll cuff you and give you reason! Keep your mouth shut!"

Pleasant Riderhood had started at the too familiar words, and paused in her counting at the change, but quickly recovered herself, and said, with a little uneasy laugh, "Don't mind him. He don't mean half he says, you know."

But Mr. Venus had not risen to the highest tier of his art without the power of observation; and he had marked the lady's start, and the red in her cheek, at the words of the foolish bird which should serve only to annoy, and not to distress; and he thought to himself, "He repeats everything anyone has said here for a week. I should like to meet the person he imitates – though that person would not be the happier for the meeting." Which was no hollow observation.

Mr. Venus looked at the lady, with concern and tenderness, as she handed him the change, and her hand touched his for the slightest moment; and then he quickly bethought himself of something, and dived into his innumerable pockets once more. "What a happy circumstance that you – that you are willing to hold property," he fumbled, as he handed a plain, and generally unreliable, watch to Miss Riderhood, who glanced at him in a curious way, as she took it from his hand. "For you see, I am in need of some small additional funds for the completion of this commission, and I wonder if you could hold this for a week in exchange for a fair price? I am sure it is not worth much, but just what I need, and when I receive the payment and means of repurchasing I could come back? You will be here, of course?" He stammered all this a great deal, but seemed very firm in his desire to leave the watch – even though he had a full till of his own, back at his shop in London. And Miss Pleasant, for her part, would not have been surprised by this intelligence, in the slightest. But she was not in the habit of denying a trade, and was not about to begin it, and so she shyly took the watch, and passed over the fair amount, and the parrot in the cage, to this remarkable new gentleman. "Will that be all, sir?"

No, that wouldn't be all, but Mr. Venus did not feel the need to voice this private opinion of his, and simply returned, with a little enthusiasm that was quite unusual in him, "Perhaps for today, though I shall be back next week for the watch, so – I hope you will keep a lookout for me."

Miss Pleasant did not say whether she would, but she did not say she wouldn't, which was not unencouraging – at least to Mr. Venus. Nor was she totally silent, for at the moment he passed the doorway, she called out, from behind the counter – "Even though he won't be – holding conversation much longer, I guess you'll want to know that parrot's name?"

Although Mr. Venus did not usually make himself acquainted with his specimens, he did not wish to offend, and so answered in the affirmative.

Pleasant Riderhood gave her small smile once more, and half-laughed. "His name is Cupid."

Cupid! Ah, as if it has come, in a wretched flash of intelligence, Mr. Venus now knows _exactly_ who to blame for his current despairing state – who to blame for his search into Limestone, who to blame for his meeting with the lovely Pleasant lady, who to blame for his exchange with her that made him love her without a doubt – it is, and always has been, Cupid's fault!

And in the darkness of his lonely shop, with his teacup on his knees, he weakly turns to look at a miserable letter upon the counter, read and reread many times in disbelief; and then, to the shelf where an unused specimen lies mouldering away, rather like his heart; and he shakes his head savagely, as only a desolate and brokenhearted man can.

"Cupid!"


End file.
